You Could Be Happy (And I Won't Know)
by justicemuffins
Summary: "Tomorrow marks the fourth anniversary of Phil Coulson's death. Once a year, on this particular day, Steve disappears. Nick Fury decides this is the year that's going to change." A different kind of fix-it.


I decided to try my hand at a different sort of fix-it fic. Not the usual happy ending, this time.

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own shit, guys. Nothin'. **

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Tomorrow marks the fourth anniversary of Phil Coulson's death. Steve never handles it well. For most of the year, he's just fine. As fine as any of them can be, anyway. But once a year, on this particular day, Steve disappears. Granted, it's one day they're all a little out of sorts, but it seems to hit Steve the hardest. He doesn't get drunk like Tony or Clint or Natasha (not that he could if he wanted to anyway), he doesn't put flowers on the grave like Pepper or Bruce, nor does he sing baleful Asgardian dirges like Thor. Everyone takes a day to remember. Steve takes a week. For the week surrounding that date, nothing short of a threat on the city can draw him from his floor of the Avengers Tower. None of them know what he does, merely that he locks himself in his rooms for days, not eating or sleeping, and talking to none of them, making sure that the doors are locked and that JARVIS permits none of them to enter.

Nick Fury decides this is the year that's going to change. It's been long enough and he supposes he owes the Captain that much. Well, not in particular that he owes him, but rather that it's what Phil would have wanted. He figures he can do that much.

Strong-arming Steve into coming out is no picnic, but he manages to guilt trip the Captain into taking the passenger seat in the non-descript S.H.I.E.L.D. SUV he has parked outside the building. Phil Coulson didn't die so Steve could sit in his room and mope. Fury tells him as much. Of course, Steve wants to know what this is all about, but Fury merely tells him to have some goddamn patience, he'll find out soon.

They drive for four hours in silence. Steve watches the scenery pass them by with an apathetic gaze. The ferocity of his black mood was reason enough for Fury to show his hand. He knows what guilt can do to a man and the last thing he needs is for Captain America to be plagued by Phil's death for the rest of what he's sure is going to be an unusually long life. The sun is beginning to set when Fury parks the car in a quiet, suburban neighborhood in Massachusetts. Neither of them speaks for several minutes.

"What are we doing here, Director Fury?" Steve asks at last.

Fury studies the man for a moment. Though he's clean-shaven with nary a hair out of place, his blue eyes hold a great weight of grief that would crush lesser men in an instant. He looks worn, tired of mourning for so many lost people. Phil wasn't the first and he wouldn't be the last, but he was different.

"No matter what you see, you stay in the car. Am I clear?" Fury asks.

"What's that suppo—"

"Am. I. _Clear_. Captain?" Fury asks again, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Steve agrees, but he doesn't look happy about it. Fury tells him to watch the house across the street. Steve does so, his expression perplexed. He's not sure what he's supposed to be looking for until a car slows in front of the home and pulls into the driveway. He watches a man climb out of the driver's seat, toting a briefcase. He forgets to breathe.

"Agent Coul—"

"You stay in this goddamn car, Captain," Fury reminds him, gripping Steve's arm like a vice.

Steve is too shell shocked to disobey, but not enough to not feel angry. "He's been alive this whole time? _Why didn't you say anything_?"

"For his safety," Fury answers.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Steve demands.

Fury sighs like a man who has borne a great weight for far too long. "He did die. I never lied about that part. He was dead for six minutes before they were able to bring him back around. But when he woke up four weeks later, he wasn't Phil Coulson anymore. The doctors had warned us that there might be some brain damage because of how long his brain had gone without oxygen. His faculties were still intact, but he had no memories of who he was. They tried everything they could to get his memory back, but they weren't doing anything other than hurting him, in the end."

Fury pauses and Steve watches Phil make his way up the walkway towards the front door. He feels a lump rise to his throat when a woman opens the door, bouncing a toddler on her hip. Phil quickly sets his briefcase down, taking the little boy in his arms and kissing the woman as a dog darts between their legs, tail wagging excitedly.

"She's the Cellist that Stark mentioned to you. We got in contact with her, debriefed her on the situation. She knew it was going to be difficult, but she didn't hesitate for a second when we asked her to look after him. We created a new identity for him, told him he'd been caught in the attack in Manhattan and lost his memory due to his injuries. They got married about three years back, in Portland. Had a kid about two years ago. I always found it funny how they wound up naming the boy 'Steve.' Phil's the principal of the local high school, goes by Mike Casper these days," Fury explains, his eye on the couple on the doorstep.

"I never told him who he'd been. Phil Coulson died, but the man who used to be Phil Coulson lived. I thought he deserved better than the truth. Telling any of you, well, we all know how that would have gone. No way you can tell me you all would have been happy just staying away from him. I couldn't risk anyone finding him. Not after all the shit he's been through. That's not his game anymore. "

Steve doesn't say anything right away. His eyes sting.

"Why are you showing me this now?" he asks.

"Because it's what he would have wanted," Fury says, his voice a steady rumble. "What, you thought I was lying when I said he didn't die just so you could mope over him?"

They sit in silence for another minute, watching Phil hand the young boy back to his wife. He stooped to retrieve his briefcase, scratching the dog's ears with a laugh they can see but can't hear.

"He looks happy," Steve says quietly, a smile that's equal parts sad and relieved tugging at the corners of his lips, even as his eyes water.

"I'd like to keep it that way," Fury answers. "I lost my one good eye. I lost a good agent, a good man, and a good friend. I'd give my other eye to get him back, but that's not going to happen. It's better this way. Man deserves a little happiness."

Steve nods in agreement. "I understand."

"Do you?"

"I think so. Or I will over time."

"Good answer."

Steve draws a deep breath as he watches Phil go into the house and close the door behind him. It's closure, in its own way, even if it's just a different kind of hurt. It's a hurt he can live with, though. Fury doesn't seem to need telling, just starts driving again. Steve cranes his neck, watching the house until it's out of sight. Something inside him moves, comes to life again, as he quickly wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand.

Life goes on. For everyone.

Phil Coulson is dead, that hasn't changed. Steve mourns him, that hasn't changed either. But he's starting to be okay with it.

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